Black Sunday
by XinnLajgin
Summary: Boromir is dead, I never would have thought those words would hurt so much to even think about. Then Again right now it hurts to even breathe.
1. Enter The Black

**A/N: Well here we go again. This is chapter I of part II of my series. Apparently there are a lot of people who are obsessed with grammar in fan fiction. I can't promise that this will be any better in that department but I'll give it a try. There was also the concern about reworking my OC. Sorry ain't gonna happen cause believe it or not there are people in the world who are really like that and plus I like this character. And to the rest of my readers and reviewers enjoy cause this is gonna going to be a bumpy ride. – Rei

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_Summery: Boromir is dead, I never would have thought those words would hurt so much to even think about. Then Again right now it hurts to even breathe.

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**Disclaimer: I don't own Lord Of The Rings, nor the characters in it. This story is merely a result of my sick twisted and depraved imagination.

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_The Falls of Rauros, 3019 TA, February 25_

Boromir barely managed to struggle to his feet, his sword flashing in the afternoon sun as he was herded toward a sheer drop. The hobbits could do nothing to help him, even as they struggled against their' captors using the tricks that Aaron had taught them. But all their' efforts were for naught, as they were being carried further and further away from the Gondorian. Aaron herself was in no shape to help them, seeing as she had blacked out when a bolt went straight through her shoulder.

It took only one misstep for the Uruk-hai to have Boromir to his knees. The Uruk-hai jeered at him as they passed but did nothing more. They had a delivery to make. Again Boromir struggled, to get up, to fight, only to have another bolt planted into his chest. He was sent to back to his knees, staring down at the shaft piercing chainmail, clothing, and flesh. The Uruk-hai archer was coming towards him once more; crossbow raised and ready to finish him off. The sandy haired Gondorian could do nothing; save stare at his would be murderer as the bolt released.

Boromir closed his eyes, the agony in his chest quickly becoming unbearable. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. The Stewart's eldest son knew that he was going to die; he only hoped that his actions both good and ill would turn out for the better of his people. Suddenly, the familiar clash of metal on metal rung throughout the forest, as a spinning dagger knocked the bolt off course, implanting itself harmlessly into the ground. Boromir was barely able to crack open his eyes just in time to see His savior charge at the Uruk-hai archer, intent on saving Boromir's life.

He watched as Aragorn, furiously combated against the sadistic being. In his rage the ranger had little of the grace that elves had taught him. Yet it was effective all the same, as Aragorn battered against the Uruk-hai's defenses. The ranger even managed to cut off the beast's crossbow arm! However, as many hits as Isildur's heir was able score against the foul creature; the Uruk-hai just came back for more and then some. The Uruk-hai refused to let his missing arm be a hindrance as he kicked Aragorn, sending him flying into tree just paces away from Boromir.

The downed Gondorian made to call out to the-would-be-king, only to choke on the blood swiftly rising up his throat. The Uruk-hai swiftly approached Aragorn, wanting to finish off what he started, before turning his attentions back on Boromir. Brains scrambled, the ranger desperately grasped for he hilt of his knife, seeing as he lost his sword mid flight. The Uruk-hai was faster, stepping on his wrist and nearly breaking Aragorn's hand in the process. Saruman's creation snarled, baring yellow and black stained teeth as he cocked his fist.

Ducking under the fist that would have planted itself firmly in his face, Aragorn reached out blindly and managed to grasp a slender piece of metal. And beheading the Uruk-hai pinning him down Isildur's heir breathed with harsh gasps. Stumbling to his feet, Aragorn went over to his fallen companion, hardly paying attention as Legolas and Gimli finally joined him. Looking down at the weapon Aragorn recognized it as one of his sister's blades. The ranger kneeled over Boromir silver eyes alight with sorrow, "Oh Boromir." Desperately gasping for air the lord of the west grasped at his tunic, "They, they took Aaron… and the little ones, you most go after them." Looking down at the bolt still lodged in Boromir's chest Aragorn shushed him as best he could.

"We will find them, together." It was a hallow assurance, because Elrond's foster son was sure that Boromir would not last the next few minutes. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to try anyway. Reaching for the arrow, Aragorn's hand was stilled by the groan issued from Boromir's throat when he grasped at the bolt. The son of Denethor coughed, "Frodo, Where is Frodo?" he asked urgently. "I let Frodo go." Aragorn informed him tiredly. Boromir nodded with a sad miniscule smile, "Then you did what I could not. I tried to take the Ring from him, Aragorn. I failed in my duty, my pledge, and my sworn word." The agony was clear as day in Boromir's eyes.

The exile shook his head. "The Ring is beyond our reach now." Aragorn said, "Frodo has left the company." Boromir's eyes only further clouded over in remorse and pain, "Forgive me. I did not see it. I did not believe its treachery was so foul. I have failed you all." Had she been there, Aragorn mused, Aaron would have probably agreed with the dying noble. As it was Aragorn tried to give all the comfort he could without moving. "No, Boromir." he said softly, "You fought bravely. You have kept your honour. It has not deserted you. You overcame the Ring's pull in the end. You have kept your honour, Boromir, son of Denethor."

Again, he tried to reach the man, but Boromir knew there would be no saving him now. "Leave it! It is over. The world of Men will fall. And all will come to darkness. The shadow shall consume all." he said in despair, "And my city to ruin…" Aragorn shook his head sadly, "I do not know what strength is in my blood." he said softly, but with conviction, his eyes locked on Boromir's, "But I swear to you, I will not let the White City fall. Nor our people fail. Not while I live." And he meant it; Boromir realized with starting clarity, despite his reluctance to take leadership, Aragorn would forsake his personal freedom to see Gondor to its true glory.

"Our people", Boromir desperately gasped out each word, "Our people…" He imagined what his homeland would have been like should he had survived to see the son of Arathorn to take up kingship. Even as the ranger kneeled over him, Boromir could see the winged crown gleaming mightily above his brow. I would have followed you, my brother, my captain. My king…." It was then that Boromir son of Denethor took his last breath. Aragorn closed the dead man's unseeing eyes for the last time, "Be at peace, son of Gondor."

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The remaining fellowship returned to camp with Boromir's body after Aragorn found his sister's other blade. It didn't go unnoticed by any of them that one of the boats was gone. Nor did it go unnoticed that some of the supplies were gone as well. And then Legolas heard whimpering as Gimli helped Aragorn prepare Boromir's body for a hasty funeral. He followed the sound to a nearby tree. The wood elf found Kennonomoi's two wolf cubs hidden among the tree roots along with her pack.

Soothing the tiny beast, Legolas took off his quiver and slung on the pack and replacing the quiver, put the cubs inside the satchel. Yipping contently Tango and Cash settled down, somehow managing to find comfortable quarters in the cramped space. He then joined his two friends at the rivers edge, helping them push the boat that they put Boromir into the water. Silently they watched their' fallen comrade's body floated off to the waterfall sending their' prays for his safe journey to the after life. Legolas immediately went to prepare one of the remaining boats, "come, we can catch up to Frodo and Sam if we go now." Aragorn tucked away Kennonomoi's blades, "we are not going after them." Both of his remaining companions looked at him incredulously.

"So this is how the fellowship ends, broken?" Gimli moved to stand at the ranger's side looking, angry, tired, and grief stricken all at the same time. Isildur's heir smiled grimly, he had failed in protecting the hobbits but he would not fail them again. 'Nor you, Kennonomoi, never again.' He vowed silently. Out loud Aragorn spoke, "Nay." He stood to his feet clasping the dwarf's shoulder, "But, I will not leave Merry, Pippin, and Aaron to torment." Legolas and Gimli seemed to stare at him for a moment, soaking in the new resolved that seemed to encompass Aragorn. Then finally Legolas smiled back grimly and Gimli growled his approval. Turning to retrieve his pack the son of Arathorn called out, "We travel light, Lets go hunt some orc."

_Fords of Isen__, 3019 TA, February 25-night_

Théodred son of Théoden, Second Marshal of the Riddermark surveyed the enemy at a distance with the scouts and advisor at his side. "So it is true then, Saruman has truly become foolish in his arrogance." Harod, his lieutenant stood at his side, battle sharpened eyes looking over their' enemy as surely as he. "Now we have proof my lord, Wormtongue will be unable to refute this." The prince's eyes narrowed, "for the sake of our people Harod, I hope you're right." What the two warriors didn't know was that they were walking into a trap that would cost more than just Théodred's life.

_Location Unknown, 3019 TA, February 27_

'Waking up was probably not the best idea.' Kennonomoi admitted to herself with a silent hiss. The brawler could feel the sharp burning sensation electrifying her entire arm and abruptly remembered being shot. And then memories of exactly what had happened slammed into her already bruised psyche. Boromir was dead the fellowship broken, and she and her pupils were captured. She nearly gagged at the smell of orcish musk registered in her brain. "Can't you see? She's hurt, she will die- "Shut up Halfling lest I cut off your feet, seeing as you won't need them."

Dizzyingly the she warrior tried to think straight, with little success as jolts of pure agony shot up her nerve endings. Closing her eyes, Kennonomoi fought the bile that wanted to burn a path up her throat. She no longer paid any attention to the two hobbits imploring their' captors to give aid to her, nor the threatening menace that the Uruk-hai presented. Her brother, Gimli, and Legolas would be coming to rescue them soon. Not to mention the slaughter that was sure to come via the Riders of Rohan, so it was best to save up her strength while she could. And unbeknownst to her clever Merry managed to drop the broach given to him in Lorien for the rest of the fellowship to find.

_Rohan, 3019 TA, February 29-Night._

Kennonomoi woke up again, if possible in more pain than before. She couldn't even hold back the gasp of misery from issuing from her lips. Automatically her eyes snapped open, and were confronted by a set of starkly yellow eyes glittering with malignant glee down at her. "STOP IT!" "YOU'RE HURTING HER!" Had she the air to breath, Kennonomoi would have told Merry and Pippin that was most likely why the foul beast was doing whatever he was doing. Looking down she noticed abruptly that she was bleeding profusely, the bolt that had been stuck in her shoulder gone.

The former brawler wanted to tell her pupils to shut up, even as the Uruk-hai raised a flaming hot blade to cauterize the wound. The unholy creation of Saruman wanted their' fear, fed off her pain and the more they cried out for her the worse it would become. Abruptly, white hot torment lashed throughout Kennonomoi's nerve endings. 'MOTHER FUCKER, he didn't even take off my shirt.' Elrond's foster daughter bit down on her tongue barely holding on by a thread. Yet she couldn't prevent the tears from spilling behind closed lids. The dark beauty was barely distracted by the tang of her blood on her own tongue. "Come now scream pretty for us."

Harsh pants were his only answer as he pulled the red hot poker from now charred flesh. The other fiendish creatures in his company cheered him on. Since they couldn't do whatever they wanted to their' captives, they could torment the Easternling that their' master wanted under the guise of treating a serious wound. But even with all the blood she lost and the agony of being burnt, the female refused to scream. However infuriated by this the creature was, he knew better than to go any further with his, attentions, lest he draw the wraith of his master upon his head.

"Come on!" his fellows jeered, tired and filled with bloodlust. "No." He roared back, "Master wants them, unspoiled." One of the more manipulative of their' company stepped forward. "We have been running for four days, and we've yet to taste man-flesh, just the bark of stupid trees." The foul beast threw down said piece of bark, intent on tearing into the feast that was dangled in front of him for four days and four nights. Focusing solely on the mutinous creature the Uruk-hai didn't notice Kennonomoi roll over painfully toward her companions.

"Aaron, don't move." The two hobbits hissed in sympathy as her eyes glazed over in pain. "When the opportunity presents itself, I want you to run." She told them. Both of the sandy haired Halflings looked incredulous. "I mean it, Merry, Pippin, when I say run, you better very well damn do it." Seeing the sudden burning intensity in their' teacher's eyes the two troublemakers nodded with a gulp. For her part, Kennonomoi was aware of the dissention that was happening just a few feet away from them.

And was planning on making a hasty exit as soon as the Rohirrim made their' appearance, she didn't plan on being there for the slaughter would follow. Like clock work the she warrior suddenly heard the thunderous hooves penetrate the still fighting Uruk-hai. She didn't even wait to hear the sound of neighing horses and screaming orcs before hauling herself to her feet, "Run!" Terrified as they were, the troublemaking duo didn't think to disobey her as they stumbled to their' feet and proceeded to duck and dodge around the two clashing forces.

Kennonomoi wasn't as lucky as her motor skills were still par to that of a drunk. She managed to stumble only a few feet before being caught by an orc. Sneering at the dark beauty, the orc raised his curved sword intent on ending her life. Kennonomoi however wasn't willing to die, ducked forward and smashing shoulder first into the monster's shins. The blistering pain was worth it seeing as it took the orc of his feet long enough for Kennonomoi to get away. Stumbling to her feet once more the brawler made dogged steps toward the forest, where she was sure that her students fled. She never made it.


	2. Hatred At First Sight

**A/N:** Sorry it took so long to update but with school and everyday life it was kinda hard to get back to this fic, this is a short update but I'll do a longer one next chapter. Hopefully my readers will like this. Anyway send plenty of reviews. -Rei

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_Rohan, 3019 TA, February 29-Night._

Not for the first time, Kennonomoi admitted to herself that waking up wasn't the best idea. However the ceaseless throbbing in her now most assuredly mangled shoulder wouldn't allow for the bliss of unconsciousness. As it was she barely held back an angry groan as her Orc inflicted wound was prodded in the most unpleasant of ways. And though the brawler was no longer in the embrace of oblivion she was most assuredly not fully awake, barely aware of the two speculating men of Rohan tending to her wounds.

"My lord, the prisoner may not be an agent of our enemy, besides being a woman; she was bound, and battered before Logard knocked her out." Eomer son of Eomund regarded his host' chief physician with slightly disbelieving eyes, the trickery of their' enemy was vast and he wouldn't put it past Saruman to plant an Easternling spy amongst them. "It matters not Eoherë, she is still of the enemies ilk, perhaps she is not a spy, but then again perhaps she was punished for failure. There are too many questions that have yet to be answered."

Eoherë raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes truly curious as to what his commander was thinking. "So you're not going to execute her then sir?" Eomer grimaced, he wasn't going to lie and say the thought hadn't crossed his mind. War had hardened his heart long ago. Killing, even the seemingly defenseless became a necessity that Eomer was intimately familiar with. "No, we need answers, and I will not leave a potential threat unattended in our lands." Kennonomoi barely managed to crack open her eyes, hearing her person and death mentioned in the same sentence. Neither lord nor physician noticed whisky eyes regarding them from under pitch black lashes. Eoherë sat on the edge of the cot she was lain upon.

Even as he conversed further with his young lord, the honey haired Eroling dressed and bound her shoulder. He barely took notice of the torn and bloody remains of her shirt, but did take slight interest in the pendant lying precariously between her bound breasts. He went to take a closer look at it only to find his hand snatched up in iron grasp of his now 'conscious' patient. Unable to stop himself Eoherë shouted in surprise, causing those stationed outside the tent scrambling in and Eomer into drawing his sword, moving to neutralize the threat to one of his men. Too pain stricken to actually know what she was doing, Kennonomoi shoved Eoherë away from her.

Then she was barely able to freeze when cold steel glided just scant centimeters from her throat, "You will be still, or you will die." Dazed and in pain the dark haired woman gazed up at the honey haired with nothing short of acidic malice spitting liquid fire from her eyes and equally foul curses spewing forth from her lips. Doe brown orbs didn't waver even as steel pressed uncomfortably close to Kennonomoi's unprotected throat. "You attack helpless women often?" She couldn't help but snarl. Disdainfully Eomer snarled right back, "be silent Easternling."

Kennonomoi knew that she shouldn't provoke the man currently holding a sword to her throat, but was in too much pain to really care. "My lord!" the protest stilled the third Marshall's hand as he glanced over at Eoherë who was now gazing at him disapprovingly. Eomer suddenly realized what he may have looked like to his men who were watching him. The king's nephew leaned over an injured woman with a sword. An Easternling she might be, but injured, and most assuredly a helpless woman she was. Gridding his teeth Eomer slowly backed away, sheathing his sword. "My apologies, lady." He spoke the words as propriety demanded of him.

The dark beauty bit her tongue, pinpricks of pain still shooting live jolts from her shoulder then up and down her spine, translating into the mother of all headaches. When the world came back into focus, Eoherë was leaning over the youngest Espada with a cup pressed firmly against her chapped lips. Kennonomoi tried to gag at the slow slimy taste slipping an icy path down her gullet but the healer messaged her throat, coaxing the concoction down as gently as possible. Suddenly it didn't hurt so much, and Kennonomoi knew she'd probably been drugged up to her eyeballs. Not that she was complaining.

Eomer cast his still livid gaze to the two guards that were supposed to be on watch outside. Immediately the two sheepish men, scrambled back outside. The rider of Rohan turned his attention back to the wounded woman lying on the coot. And for the first time he truly took stock of the damage done to her. The Eastern ling's dark torso was riddled with cuts and bruising in various stages of healing, her lips red and nearly swollen from biting down to curb the urge to scream. And he couldn't say that he blamed her if her most severe injury was anything to go by.

The third Marshall couldn't help but wince in sympathy as his eyes locked on the charred black rip in the girl's shoulder. Eoherë had already assured him that though the method in which she was 'healed' was crude and probably unimaginably painful by any standards, their' dark prisoner would make a full recovery. There was no way to tell what the original cause of it was, but the fact that the cannibalizing enemy would go to any lengths at all was still very telling. However what the white wizard would want with her?

Clearing his throat Eomer forced the dark woman's attention back on him. Eoherë removed the cup from her lips sure that pain was finally numbing under the effects of his remedy. "I must ask ladies, who are you and what is your business in the Riddermark?" He couldn't help but to follow the flutter of her long pitch black lashes, like little tambourines against her red stained cheeks. "You may call me Bee, sister of Strider, as to my business in the Riddermark horse lord, I have none." Kennonomoi breathed in deeply trying to keep her answer straight under the influence of the drugs flooding her system.

"I was dragged here against my will, as were two others of our party, hobbits, or small folk of the shire if you don't know them." Eomer raised an eyebrow, and crossed his arms over his golden chest-plate. "You give a ranger's name; say that you traveled with halflings, and expect me to believe that you were kidnapped by the creatures that your race serves?" If she weren't so drugged Eomer was sure that Bee's glare would flay the skin right off his bones. "Whether you believe or not doesn't make it less true. The real question is if you deal with the imprisonment and or the death of someone innocent of what you accuse on your hands."

The King's nephew flinched at the dark woman's wry tone, not at all comfortable with the fact that once again her words had struck a nerve. Was the death of one person really worth the lives of his people whom he was sworn to protect. Yes, it was, but it didn't make it any easier. Suddenly a thought struck Eomer like a bolt of lightening. Breaking eye contact he drew his sword, and once again pointed it at her throat, "witch," he hissed. "Be gone your foul craft before I cut your tongue from your mouth." Caught between laughing at the man's stupidity and snarling at his arrogance, Kennonomoi gave a hacking cough.

"Put that away you fucking retarded anally abused pit bitch, I am not, nor have I ever been a witch, it doesn't take a genius to see what your thinking when the shit is written all over your face." She snarled, her temper finally getting the better of her. Eoherë gagged behind his hand, resisting the urge to laugh at the especially graphic insult. This woman had some steel in her spine that was for sure. And her western was too flawless for her to be a child of the east, yet the color of her skin didn't lie, she had to be descendant of their' enemies in the land of the rising sun. And yet her clothes and only piece of jewelry, unique as they were, were not of the East.

"Then who are you? For surely you aren't born to the north of rangers." The healer interrupted his lord before he could retaliate. Kennonomoi grimaced, "adopted actually." Both lord and physician looked at each other in disbelief. A grand tale this bedridden woman tells indeed. Had she any energy left to do so, Kennonomoi would have rolled her eyes. She had told them the truth or at least some of the truth, even though she was tempted to just lie. It was too late to go back on what she said now. All the youngest Espada could hope for was that her 'brother' and his friend weren't too far behind.

_Rohan, 3019 TA, February 30_

Aragorn and Legolas raced across the flat lands of Rohan's terrain, the cubs scudded at their 'uncle's' feet, keeping pace while Gimli brought up the rear. Suddenly hearing the pounding hooves of many horses, they dived behind a large group of boulders, and out of sight. The ranger peeked out from behind the outcropping to see the riders swiftly riding by. Aragorn stood from their' hiding spot and called out, "Riders of Rohan what news of the mark?" Instantly the riders wheeled around on them, horses racing as they surrounded them in a tight circle, the Riders who did not have bows drawn had spears pointed at them.

Only Aragorn raised his hands in a sign of peace, even as Tango and Cash let out whimpering growls at his feet. The lead rider, face covered by his helmet, moved closer, and looked at them in barely disguised wonder. Both the fair folk and the mountain folk were the things of children's tales to most of the Rohirrim. "What business does an elf, a man, and a dwarf have in the Riddermark? Speak quickly!" he commanded, and said dwarf visibly bristled at his scornful and suspicious tone.

Gimli's hands clenched around his axe and he glared at the man, "Give me your name, Horse master, and I shall give you mine." he growled. The flight to the aid of their' lost comrades had not helped his already gruff temperament and Aragorn placed a stilling hand on the fiery tempered warriors shoulder. The man handed his staff to another rider, and dismounted, approaching the Dwarf. Eomer set his own glower pierce him, as he said derisively, "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground." Aragorn held back an exasperated groan as he heard Legolas swiftly draw his bow.

"You would die before your stroke fell!" The situation degenerated even further when the riders closed about them, and the threatening spears were now pointed ominously close their throats. Aragorn managed to push down Legolas's arm, causing him to lower his bow. Holding out his arms out in a gesture of peace Isildur's heir spoke once more, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the Dunedain, also called Strider. This is Gimli, son of Glóin, and Legolas of the Woodland realm. We are friends of Rohan and of Théoden, your king."

Suddenly the horse lord's eyes became wide as saucers, "Théoden no longer recognizes friend from foe. Not even his own kin, tell me son of Arathorn, are you also brother of the one called Bee?" The broken fellowship let out thunderous sighs of relief, "Aaron is alive then?" Eomer raised a golden brow at the distinctly un-feminine name while the ranger continued to question him "What of the hobbits? There would be two of them, small, children to your eyes." The ranger asked. Eomer let out a piercing whistle, and called Eoherë forward. "Nay, we say none save your ward, all else was slaughtered in the night." He told them with a pitying look.

Gimli looked positively grief stricken, "dead?" Eomer nodded, "I am sorry." Legolas silently placed his hand on the stricken Dwarf's shoulder, his own face taut with grief. Aragorn wasn't paying attention, too preoccupied with checking over Kennonomoi, whom was placed in his arms unconscious and worn from riding for most of the day. Tango and Cash joined him in inspecting their 'mother' whimpering even as they renewed the scent markers that they had placed on her via rubbing their' furry hides against her sides.

Aragorn couldn't stop the growl welling up in his throat especially when he caught sight of his sister's bandaged shoulder peeking from under the wide collar of the big green shirt Eomer had lent her, "what happened to Aaron?" Eoherë sighed, "We don't know exactly, she was either shot or stabbed and then burned to disinfect and cauterize the wound." Legolas and Gimli moved to join them, taking in their comrade's battered state as best they could without losing their composure. It was hard but both the elf and dwarf managed it. The ranger's face suddenly hardened as he looked to Eomer.

"We have had a long journey, are we now to find that it has been in vain?" he said, "Through Lorien we came, and thence down the leagues of the Great River to the falls of Rauros. There Boromir was slain by the same orcs whom you destroyed." The honey haired lord of the Riddermark pitched back as if slapped, "Your news is all of woe!" He hadn't known the Stewart's heir well but Boromir was a good man all the same. "Great harm is this death to Minas Tirith, and to us all. He was a worthy man! All spoke his praise. He came seldom to the Mark, for he was ever in the wars on the East-borders; but I have seen him."

Taking in a gulp of air Eomer continued. "More like to the swift sons of Eorl than to the grave Men of Gondor he seemed to me, and likely to prove a great captain of his people when his time came. But we have had no word of this grief out of Gondor? When did he fall?" Aragorn's grip on his 'sister's shoulders tightened ever slightly. "It is now the fourth day since he was slain," Legolas replied for his friend, "And since the evening of that day we have journeyed from the shadow of Tol Brandir." The riders stared at them, almost unable to believe in what they were hearing, "On foot?" Eomer asked incredulous.

"Yes, even as you see us." The ranger replied tiredly. Eomer's eyes widened slightly, "Strider is too poor a name, son of Arathorn," he said, with little jest, "Wingfoot I name you. This deed of the four friends should be sung in many a hall. Forty leagues and five you have measured ere the fourth day is ended! Hardy is the race of Elendil!" he added, knowing that no ordinary man could have done as such. Still, seeing the way the ranger held onto the woman in his arms Eomer couldn't help but agree that their' errand was that great.

And thus his wonder passed swiftly, and the hard lines returned to his face, "But now, lord, what would you have me do? I must leave in haste, for we are pursued by Wormtongue's spies. I spoke warily before my men. We are not yet at open war with the Black Land, and there are some, close to the king's ear, that speak craven counsels; such that banished us, but war is coming. We shall not forsake our old alliance with Gondor, and while they fight, we shall aid them; so say I and all who hold with me."

The coffee eyed man looked tired even behind the mask of his lordly manner. "The East-mark is my charge, the ward of the Third Marshal, and I have removed all our herds and herd folk, withdrawing them beyond Entwash, and leaving none here but guards and swift scouts." Aragorn furrowed his brow. "Then that is why the land is empty," he mused, "But what of your defenses, is nothing being prepared?" Eomer looked vaguely agitated, "The King believes that Saruman is our ally, not even the word of his own kin could sway him." They could all understand his frustration. War had been declared on his home and yet he is unable to protect it.

"Rohan prepares for nothing save what I do. But the time has come for us to depart, but your pursuit is a valiant one and I shall aid you." He turned and whistled, "Hasufel! Arod!" Two horses trotted up to their lord, saddled and ready. He turned to Aragorn, clasping his shoulder "May these horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell!" he said as he replaced his helmet and mounted his horse. "Look for your friends." he called turning Firefoot, "But do not trust to hope, it has forsaken these lands. We ride north!" and they departed in a thunder of hooves, leaving the hunters to turn and gaze at the smoke coming from away.


End file.
